


Against the Ropes

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Boxer!Dean, Boxer!Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester NSFW, Dean Winchester Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader NSFW, Female Reader SMUT, NSFW, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Supernatural AU - Freeform, dean winchester au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is an aging boxer that is breaking all the rules by dating his agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the 8th round with a minute to go and Dean was against the ropes. With gloves up to protect his face, he hunched over to try and stop the rapid jabs to his ribs. Fuck, Cole was fast. The ex-Marine was a few years younger than Dean and had the speed to backup his claims. But there was one thing he didn’t have that Dean did, and that was experience.

While Dean had recently turned 30, an age that most might call middle-aged; which let’s face it, 30 was getting up there for a boxer, he had put years into perfecting his craft. From waking up at 3AM to not falling asleep until after midnight, working out at Harvelle’s Gym for 8 hours a day, practicing whenever he wasn’t studying or working, spending time away from his friends and family… the list was endless.

Go on, ask him if it was worth it. He’ll tell you the same thing now that he said when he was 20. _Fuck yes!_

Dean shifted his feet, jabbing his right fist into a kidney as he moved.

_10  
9_

The clear mouth guard that every boxer was required to wear flew out of Cole’s mouth as he doubled over.

_8  
7_

You couldn’t help but jump to your feet and join the cheering crowd as Dean spun around Cole, shaking his head to clear his vision. Blood from a cut obtained in the 4th round had been ripped open and it was dripping from his hairline.

 _6_  
5  
4  
  


The referee stood in the middle of the ring with a whistle between his lips, using his fingers to count down with the rest of the rambunctious crowd.

 _3_  
2  
  
Cole spun on his feet and lunged after Dean, whose back was turned because he had already started the short walk to his corner.

_1_

The whistle was shrill, cut off quickly as the ref intercepted Cole.

“Fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Spit flew as Cole shouted.

Bobby, with a towel over his arm and a spit bucket in his hand, stepped between the ropes, “you plan on kickin’ his ass, boy?”

Dean dropped to the stool you just slid into the corner, spit his mouthguard into your hand, and rolled his neck, “what’cha think I’m tryin’ to do?”

You hissed as you wiped away the blood and grabbed some superglue, it stung like a mother fucker, but it did the trick, “looks to me like you’re getting your ass kicked.”

“Didn’t ask you, boss.”

Bobby dumped water into Dean’s mouth, “don’t sass her, son.”

After spitting the water into the bucket, Dean sneered, “back off. This ain’t the time to piss me off.”

Glaring at him, you shoved the guard into his mouth so hard he winced, “it might be the perfect time to fucking piss you off. Now get out there and fucking end it.”

Amber and pine eyes sparked in irritation. If the ref hadn’t just blown the fuckin’ whistle…

You jumped from the edge of the ring, watching as Dean strode to the center, meeting Cole with a double-fist bump.

Your speech must have hit a nerve, because _end_ _it_ is exactly what Dean did. Cole hit the mat a minute later, bleeding from an eyebrow and cheekbone.

* * *

Dean hissed through his teeth as the whiskey burned a trail to his stomach. With red and tender knuckles, he touched the cut in his hairline gingerly.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Besides, chicks dig scars.”

He watched as you sat on the other side of the small table, poured yourself a glass, and quickly drank it. “Not so worried about other chicks.”

Sitting back, you let your gaze wander over the face of Dean Winchester; your client and boyfriend. He was battered and bruised; left eye red and swollen, right cheekbone nicked open, and both hands scarred and red.

“How ya holdin’ up?”

“Felt better, but no worse than normal.”

You watched as he poured himself another double helping, his throat moving gloriously as he drank it. “That Cole guy, he was pretty fast.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “speed ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

“He held his own for a lot longer than he should’ve.”

While holding the empty glass, he pointed at you and spoke through his teeth, “don’t.”

“Look, all I’m sayin’-”

“Is what? I’m gettin’ old? That’s not a surprise, darlin’.”

Leaning forward, you dropped a hand to his, “I’m the last one in the world to comment on your age, babe, and you know it. Maybe some extra training couldn’t hurt.”

He licked his sinfully full bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth as he pulled you from the chair, “extra training, huh?”

Your bare knees brushed against his denim-clad ones as you came to a stop, “if you’re up to it, that is.”

“Darlin’, I’m up for anything you are,” with rough hands digging into your hips, he pulled you down so you were straddling his thick thighs.

Painted toes braced against the cool tile floor while you grabbed the back of his neck, digging your fingers a little deeper than necessary, “you don’t feel _up_ to it to me.” As if to prove your point, you ground your hips into his, biting your bottom lip with the button fly dug into your clit through the thin cotton shorts you had just changed into.

“Fuck, baby girl. I can feel you how wet you are through my jeans,” Dean slid his fingers under the hem of your shorts, digging them into your ass and pulled.

That’s when his cock hardened, pushing his fly between your aching, wet lips. Your head fell back as you moaned his name obscenely. He growled before dipping his head and wrapping his mouth around your pebbled nipple, pulling it roughly between his teeth. The grey t-shirt you always wore around the apartment grew damp from all of the attention Dean was showering your breast with.

Grabbing the hem of his shirt, you pulled it over his head, revealing a stereotypical boxer’s body; well built, bruised, scarred, and tattooed. He returned the favor, and the moment the shirt cleared your head, you ripped open the fly of his jeans.

His thick cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach. Fuck, you loved it when he free-balled.

“Like what you see?” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You know I do, baby,” with a wink, you shimmied between his legs, hooked your fingers into the top of his jeans, and with a little help from him, you pulled his jeans down; tossing them to the side once his feet were free.

His hands were in your hair for two reasons. To keep it out of the way and so he could watch as you fucked him with your mouth, “suck it, baby girl.”

A jolt of electricity shot through you, landing directly in the pit of your stomach. You clenched your thighs, rubbing them together, desperate for any kind of friction.

Palming his heavy balls, you slid your hand between his belly and cock. You pressed your tongue flat to the underside of his cock, moaning greedily as the thick vein pulsed against your tongue. You licked him slowly as you squeezed his balls, massaging them between your palm and fingertips. When you reached the wide, velvet cock-head, you dipped your tongue into his leaking tip.

He hissed then, bucking his hips so that your lips enveloped him, “stop teasin’.”

Fuck, you loved it when he was bossy. You twirled your tongue around his head before sucking him down, taking him as deep as you could without gagging; your hand stroking what your lips couldn’t reach.

Dean’s wide hand on the back of your head urged you faster, harder, further down his substantial length until you couldn’t breathe. Grunting, Dean pulled you back, “breathe, baby.”

Your lungs filled with fresh air and you could feel the heat in your face, but fuck, you wanted more. Using your saliva, you pumped him in your hand, mewling when more cum oozed from his cock. Without any urging from Dean, you took him in your mouth again; sucking and swallowing around his cock-head until he pushed your head down so that his ginger curls tickled your nose.

He was choking you, not with his hands, but with his thick cock, and the lack of oxygen sent heat rushing to your pussy. It ached and throbbed and before you knew what you were doing, you released his balls and dipped two fingers into your pussy.

Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, fucking yourself at the same speed, with the same ferocity that you fucked him with. You chased your orgasm and without any warning, Dean pulled you off the floor and slammed into you’ bottoming out with a throaty groan. His pelvis bit into yours, his balls slapped your ass, and that was exactly what you needed to fall apart at the seams.

Dean grabbed your hips, and even though your orgasm wasn’t over, he spread his feet and pounded into you. Your breasts bounced erratically, tight nipples drug through the sweat that made his skin glisten, and with your head thrown back, he could feel the ends of your hair on his balls. It would tickle any normal person, but not Dean. Oh no. Dean liked the extra sensation.

“Fuck… baby girl… I’m- unng” his gravelly voice was cut off by your mouth. You drove your tongue between his teeth and kissed him just as savagely as he fucked you. He came as you kissed, pulsing harder yet when you reached around and squeezed his balls.

His hips snapped up and he bit your bottom lip before hissing, “fuuuuuuck.”

You dropped your head to his shoulder as the pair of you came down from your high; panting and body parts pulsing with aftershocks. Rough hands rest on your lower back and ass, squeezing gently and dragging slow, lazy circles on your damp skin.

Finally able to breathe normally, you sat up and kissed his cheek, “time to hit the showers.”

After you stood, Dean clenched his jaw as his softening cock slapped against his thigh, “you plan on joining me, boss?”

You poured a healthy amount of whiskey into each glass, handing him one as you drank yours, “I don’t know. I heard shower sex is complicated.”

Dean stood in front of you, the smell of sex thick in the air, “honey, ain’t nothin’ complicated about the way I do shower sex.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean bounced around on the balls of his feet as he sparred with Bobby; deflecting punches before throwing his own. They were trying something new to get ready for the next big fight next week, and Dean, being a perfectionist, wanted to get it right.

You stood in the doorway of Ellen’s office; arms crossed, one foot draped over the other, shoulder against the frame. Watching Dean was hypnotizing. The way the muscles rippled and twitched beneath sweat-slicked skin, how his feet glided over the mat, how he would move out of the way at the last second so he would know where to throw his next punch. It was difficult not to watch him.

A door opening and closing on the other side of the gym pulled your attention away. Wearing his usual black suit, shirt, and trench coat, Crowley strode around the ring and stood in front of you, “Mornin’ love.”

Standing straight, you pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek, “Morning, daddy.”

After kissing your cheek, he turned to watch Dean spar, “How’s our star athlete?”

“A little banged up after last night, but you know how he is.”

“Surprised he came back from that last hit.”

You bumped his shoulder with yours, “Gave him a good ol’ fashioned pep talk.”

Smirking, he shot you a wink, “You always had a way with words, my little hellion.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“What? I need a reason to come and see my beautiful girl?”

Rolling your eyes, you backed into the office, “Since when _don’t_ you need a reason?”

* * *

“You did **what**?!” Your body shook with confusion and rage. Crowley was damn lucky he was your father, otherwise you’d kick his ass and leave him bleeding on the floor.

Crowley shifted on his feet under the weight of your angered gaze, “It was a lot of money.”

Shoving your hands through your hair, you paced behind the desk, “So bet (I)on(I) him!”

“Love, you don’t understand. The payout if I had bet against him would have set me up for years.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Dad, do you realize how much trouble I’d be in if _anyone_ got wind of this? This don’t just affect you, you know.”

He came around the desk and tried grabbing your hand, but you pulled away. “It’s just one match.”

“I could lose my job, dad. Not just that, but everything I’ve worked so hard for could be taken away. And why? Because you placed a bet against ‘our star athlete’, which breaks _so_ many rules.” Groaning, you scraped a hand over your face.

“Please, love. Just… just this once-”

Your raised hand cut him off, “No, dad.” Shaking your head, you turned away from him and stalked to the door.

When your hand gripped the handle, six words pushed ice through your veins, “I made the bet with Gadreel.”

* * *

Gadreel sat behind a desk, long-fingered hands clasped together while he listened intently to Crowley.

“-and if there is any other way I could pay it off, I’ll do it.”

“The deal stands, old man. Either your boy throws the match or you’re out $750K.”

Crowley sputtered, “B- but… that… I don’t _have_ $750,000!”

Leaning back in his chair, Gadreel smirked, “That’s not my problem.”

“Like hell it isn’t your problem, mate.” Crowley’s face went crimson as he yelled. Which wasn’t the best idea in the world.

Gadreel was out of the chair and had Crowley against the wall with a hand on his neck, “This is the last time I’m going to say it, _mate_. Get him to throw the match or your ass is six feet under.”

* * *

“What’s going on with you today?” Dean refilled the wine glass that had been cupped in your palm for the last several minutes.

The man in front of you snapped into focus, “Sorry. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?” His words were slightly slurred since he had just shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Hmmm? No. It’s all good.” You quickly drank the wine, making up your mind of exactly how you would fix your father’s mess.

With a fork pointed at you, Dean narrowed his eyes, “You sure? Your forehead is doing that wrinkly thing when somethin’ is buggin’ you.”

Forcing a small smile, you grabbed your plate and walked to the sink, “It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

He chuckled after washing down the potatoes with beer, “Think you got our heads mixed up, darlin’.”

You wanted to turn around and joke with Dean, but the revelation of who your father owed money to was so fucking heavy. Gadreel was… scary. Most of what went around y/town were rumors, sure, but rumors always had an element of truth to them.

Like the time a stay at home mom placed a wager that her son’s high school basketball team would win the state championships. She couldn’t walk after they were t-boned on the way home. Or when the Jeffersons were a week late on their payment. The small shop was burned to the ground. With their nineteen year old son in the back room.

Gadreel was the type of man that didn’t have a conscience, so he did what he wanted. As long as he got what was ‘owed to him’, he was happy; it didn’t matter who got hurt in the process.

Large hands dug into your hips and a kiss was dropped to the back of your neck, “Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here, baby.” You turned in his grip, clasping your hands behind his neck.

“You haven’t been here all afternoon.”

“Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” Dean wasn’t the stereotypical dumb jock, especially when you consider what he did for a living. He had always been able to read you like a book, no matter how good of a mask you wore.

Biting your bottom lip, you slid your hands down his chest and stomach, “Definitely not.” The clatter of the belt buckle was all but silenced when Dean sucked in a breath, his hips jerking as you went to work.

Sex with Dean had never been boring. New positions were always being tried, toys were experimented with, but the one thing that was never tried was sex where people could see you. Not in public or anything like that, but in a place where you couldn’t hide. Your kitchen, for example, where the one wall was floor to ceiling windows and the building across the alley was less than fifteen feet away.

Dean ripped off his shirt as you pushed down his jeans and boxer briefs. On your knees, you were eye level with his half-hard cock. Even in its current state, it was a beautiful sight. Dean was thick and long, veins popped to life as blood rushed to his groin, and his velvet cock-head just begged to be sucked and licked.

You gripped his balls with one hand while stroking him with the other, slapping his seeping tip against your tongue. He was the perfect mix of sweet and salty, so you swallowed the pre-cum greedily. With lips wrapped around his cock-head, you sucked and pumped him until he was hard.

His head fell back as he moaned your name, grinding it out through his teeth. He wound a hand into your hair, urging you faster, thrusting himself deeper until you choked on him. With your hands on his thighs, you focused on breathing through your nose so you didn’t gag.

Again and again he choked you and every time he did it, heat rushed down to your core. Your pussy ached and your panties were beyond damp. You hummed against his cock, scraping your teeth over the vein that throbbed against your tongue.

Hissing, Dean pulled on your hair and his cock fell from your mouth with a loud, wet pop. “My turn.”

You were off your knees, your shirt was ripped off, and you were bent over the counter all before you could register what was happening. He drug his hands down your spine and hooked his fingers into the band of your boy shorts. Pulling them down, he nipped at the exposed skin of your ass and thighs, nudging your legs apart with his chin.

Dean, with his nose between your legs, took in a deep breath and drug his middle finger through your folds,  “Fuck, baby girl, you’re so wet.”

You whined and pushed back, hoping he would fuck you with his hand and mouth. He answered your almost silent wish and pressed his tongue flat against your clit and licked back, pushing into your entrance. He repeated the process several times before driving his tongue in and eating you out as if he were a starving man and you were his last meal.

Your hands scrambled for purchase on the slick counter, grunting his name and begging for more, so when he pressed your clit and circled it with his middle finger, you were gone. You came on his mouth and hand, the delicious bite of his stubble on your inner thighs adding some pain to the pleasure.

He stood, wiping your juices off his chin and then sucking them off his fingers. The buzzing in your ears hadn’t completely gone away when he spoke, “So sweet, baby girl.”

Looking over your shoulder, you watched as he reached down and pressed his hand against your pussy, dragging two middle fingers through your folds. He spread your slick over his cock and licked off the rest, rolling his eyes as he groaned.

“Dean… please.”

“Please what, baby girl?”

You shimmied your hips, his cock brushing against you as you did, “Fuck me.”

With lust blown pupils, he grabbed your hips and crashed into you, driving the air from your lungs when your hips hit the edge of the counter. There was no waiting for your body to adjust to him, no giving you time to catch your breath, because that’s not what you wanted. You wanted to be fucked and Dean gave you exactly what you asked for. 

Dean snapped his hips at an almost alarming pace, driving your hips into the counter. Your breasts and hands squealed against the countertop and the wet slap of his balls against your clit echoed through the small room. The pair of you were reduced to grunts and groans, chasing your release with several slaps of his hand on your ass.

You came first, like a flash grenade went off in your mind. Everything went white and buzzed as you screamed his name. His hips stuttered only slightly before he pulsed and dug his hands into your ass. You knew what he was doing; spreading your cheeks so he could watch himself cum.

Even after he had no more to give, Dean kept moving. You watched over your shoulder as he bit his bottom lip, his face crimson, and beads of sweat on his forehead. The sight of him was enough to make you cum again.

* * *

You waited until Dean fell asleep before sneaking out of the bedroom. Wearing a long shirt, you paced in the living room, trying to gather the courage needed to make a phone call. It was when the clouds started to turn pink and purple that you pressed the green connect button.

“Well, well, well, can’t say I’m surprised you’re calling me.”

The timber of his voice drove a shudder down your spine, “Gadreel.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, doll?”

“We need to talk about my father.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean, wearing dark sweats and grey hoodie, took a long pull from his water, “Bobby, you seen Y/N this morning?”

The older man slung his jacket over the back of a chair, “Nah, you?”

Flexing his hands as some arthritic pain shot through them, Dean shook his head, “Not like her to just up and-”

“Son, she’s a grown ass woman that has more than one client.”

Of course he knew that, but something about how she was acting the night before made Dean’s stomach knot up. “I know, just-”

Bobby leaned back against the ring and crossed his arms, “Just what? She not there when you woke up this morning?”

“It’s more than that.”

“She not make you coffee?”

“Damn it, Bobby. Would you shut up and listen to me?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, “Get in the damn ring.”

Five minutes later, Dean had been knocked on his ass more times than he’d like to admit.

“Son, you ain’t payin’ attention!”

With a huff, Dean pushed off the mat and slapped his gloves together, “I’m tryin’!”

Bobby put up his padded hands and instructed Dean on what punches to throw. “What’s goin’ on with Y/N?”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t acting like herself last night and then she was gone when I woke up.”

Bobby ducked his head, feeling the wind blow through his thinning hair, “And that’s not like her?”

“Somethin’ just doesn’t feel right-” His next words were cut off by a sparring pad to the side of his head.

“You can’t let it distract you. Come on, mitts up.”

Dean squared his jaw and glared at his trainer. If Bobby wasn’t like family, he’d lay him on his ass.

Bobby chuckled at the dark expression, “There’s the drive and focus we need to get you ready.”

* * *

Dean was still asleep when you snuck out of the apartment. Not that he was one to sleep in, but after the phone call with Gadreel, you couldn’t calm down. So you did what normally eased your nerves; you went for a jog. But you must have been too sidetracked because you ran out in front of not one, not two, but three cars that had the right of way.

“Balls!” You were bent at the waist, hands on your thighs, and breathing heavily from the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

There was too much on your mind; the deal your father made with Gadreel, the ‘favor’ Crowley asked of you, and then there was the meeting you arranged. You had no idea what the exact details were of Crowley’s deal, but he had to be in over his head if he went to Gadreel.

Deciding against running further, you went back to the apartment and got ready. Starting off the day meeting with Gadreel wasn’t high on the list of things you enjoyed, but better to get it over with.

* * *

Gadreel stood from behind the desk as you were shown into his office, “Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. Your father has told me a lot about you.”

Smiling tightly, you shook his hand before sitting, “Wish I could say the same.”

His mile-wide smile didn’t falter, “Care for something to drink? Coffee, tea, or maybe something a little stronger?”

“No, thank you.” You may not have liked the man, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be polite. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with why I’m here.”

Dipping his head, he sat down, resting his forearms on his desk, “Your father.”

You clenched your jaw in irritation, more at your father than the gloating tone of the mobster across from you, “Yes, my father.”

“And what would you like to know?”

“The specifics of the previous deal.”

Gadreel leaned back and hissed through his teeth, “Sorry, doll, I don’t discuss those kinds of things with people that aren’t directly involved.”

Frustration bubbled in your belly, churning the coffee you drank earlier, “But I _am_ directly involved. He told me to have Dean throw the next match.”

“And what was your answer?” He was a little too interested for your liking.

“No. It’s not happening.”

Disappointment flushed his cheeks, “That’s not the answer I was hoping for, doll.”

“Exactly how much does my father owe you?”

Gadreel chuckled as he sat up, “Again, I don’t discuss-”

“Cut the bullshit, Gadreel, and tell me how much my father owes!”

His lips curled up in satisfaction at your outburst, “$750K.”

You swallowed painfully, “Th- that’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, well, your father has a bit of a gambling problem.”

“And if the next match is thrown, his debt is wiped clean.”

A wicked sparkle lit up his eyes, “Clean as a whistle.”

It was then you remembered what the next fight was for, “But… the next match will get him into the finals.”

“Indeed.”

And then you remembered who his opponent was, “You want me to have Dean throw a match against Gunner Lawless? Are you fucking serious?” The chair all but fell over with how fast you stood.

Green eyes flashed in irritation at your tone. When he stood, it was slow and deliberate, almost as if he were a predator stalking its prey. “I am dead serious, Y/N.”

You managed not to shake as he walked around the desk, “Well I won’t do it. I won’t have someone kick the shit out of him just to wipe my father’s debt.”

He leaned against his desk, folded his arms, and narrowed his eyes, “He’s not just your client.”

 _Shit._ “Of course he is.”

“No. No, I think you’re fucking him.”

“Why, because I don’t want him throwing a match? Please. I won’t let _any_ of my clients throw a match just because _you_ want them to. You don’t have that kind of pull with me.” You really, really hoped he couldn’t hear your heart jack-hammering against your chest.

He drug his eyes along your frame, biting his lip when he met your gaze, “I may not have that kind of pull with you, but that doesn’t mean my demand won’t be met.”

You opened your mouth to ask what the hell he meant, but the loud snap of his fingers cut you off. The door was opened and in walked a man you easily recognized, a man that happened to be one of Dean’s best friends.

“Yeah, boss.”

His name fell from your lips in a shocked whisper. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing!

Blue eyes went wide when he saw the reason for Gadreel’s emergency meeting. He stood next to the chair you vacated, “Heya sug. What’cha doin’ here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing, Benny.”

Gadreel chuckled low in his throat, “You two know each other. Oh my, this makes it even more exciting.”

Goosepimples rose on the back of your neck and arms, “What do you mean?”

“Leverage, doll.”

* * *

The muscles between Dean’s shoulder blades were groaning in protest, but he didn’t stop throwing jabs at the round punching bag. It beat against his gloves and the backboard steadily, sending a constant drum throughout Harvelle’s Gym.

It was nearly seven p.m. and he hadn’t seen Y/N; to top it off, she wasn’t answering her phone. Something was definitely wrong because she never went this long without being in contact. Guilt started to creep into his belly; he knew he should have done something earlier, but what?

Bobby was right, Dean wasn’t Y/N’s only client, but none of the other boxers had heard from her either. The only other person he could call was Crowley, but he didn’t know about Dean’s more than client / manager relationship with Y/N. They had broken the cardinal rule when it came to a professional relationship and Crowley would be nothing less than thrilled. If possible, Dean would keep Crowley out of it as much as possible.

It was nearly ten by the time Dean got home. “Babe, you here?” The only answer was the echo of his duffel hitting the floor. That’s when his heart started to pound.

The apartment was dark, save for the ambient light provided by a pole outside the large kitchen window. Other than the pink pair of running shoes next to the door, there was nothing to indicate that she had been there. He strode into the bedroom, finding the clothes she wore when she jogged and a towel, but again, nothing signaled she had been there more recently than this morning.

He dug out his phone and called her again. He shouldn’t have been surprised when it went to her voicemail. “Y/N, where the fuck are you? I’m about to start calling the hospitals-”

_**BEEP** _

Without looking, Dean connected to the incoming call, “Y/N?”

“Sorry to disappoint, friend, but no, I’m not Y/N.” The voice that greeted Dean sent a shudder down his spine.

He clenched his jaw and the hand that wasn’t gripping the phone, “Who the fuck is this?”

“Easy, tiger. We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Gadreel.”

 _Fuck!_ If Gadreel was calling him, it wasn’t because he needed a cup of sugar, “What do you want? Where’s Y/N?!”

A chuckle rumbled through the speaker, “I don’t think you’re in the place to be asking so many questions.”

“Where the fuck is SHE?!”

Gadreel sighed heavily, “I’m afraid I cannot just give you her location.”

Dean forced himself not to scream, “Then what do you want?”

“Just one thing.”

“Name it.”

The wicked smirk crept into Gadreel’s voice, “Throw the next match.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out how Dean and reader met.

** _8 years earlier_ **

It wasn't every day that a suit walked into the gym, let alone a suit in a pencil skirt and heels. She strode through the gym, all business and no play, and straight into Ellen’s office. With her heels clicking through the suddenly empty gym, Dean watched the way her hips swayed.

Sam landed a punch into Dean’s palm, “Dude.”

“What? Don't tell me you didn't look.”

Pursing his lips, Sam rolled his eyes, “I'm with Jess.”

Dean slapped the black sparring gloves together, “You're coming up on what, two years?”

“Three, end of the month,” Sam threw a right cross, forcing Dean back a step.

“You know I won't judge you for looking.”

With a grunt, Sam threw a right, right, left, uppercut combination Dean wasn't expecting, “Dude, stop.”

Dean chuckled, “Relax brother, you know I'm only yanking your leg.”

Ellen, suddenly at their sides, cleared her throat, “Dean, my office.”

“Gimme ten,” he deflected Sam’s rapid punches. Man, his not-so-baby baby brother was getting the hang of this.

“Now, Winchester.”

* * *

 

The suit stood as Dean shut the door behind him, straightened her skirt, and gave him a confident smile. Ellen rounded her desk, “Dean, this is Miss Y/L/N, she’s interested in being your agent.”

Dean scoffed, “What do I need an agent for, Y/L/N?”

“Please, call me Y/N. And you need an agent because you’ve got what it takes to make it.”

“Make it? Sweetie, I ain’t in this to make it big.”

Cocking a hip, Y/N leaned against Ellen’s desk, “Enlighten me, Dean. Why are you in it?”

He had been doing this for years, but never really thought about it. He loved boxing, loved the adrenaline that came with fighting, loved the intricacy of the footwork, the complicated defensive jabs. Boxing was just something he did to pass the time. Wake up early, box. Get off of work, box. Can’t sleep, box. It was something he was good at and it helped keep him out of trouble. Now he was using it to keep his brother in line. Living in a shady neighborhood had its pros; cheaper housing. It also had its cons; gangs, drugs, prison. So boxing seemed like the thing to do. You know, when he wasn’t helping out his old man at the auto shop.

“I just don’t want to.”

She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down, “No… there’s more to it than that. Look, you’ve got something. Something no one has seen since Ali-”

Dean rolled his eyes and yanked the door open, “Whatever, you don’t know me. See you tomorrow, Ellen.”

Sam pushed off the edge of the ring as his brother approached, “What was that about?”

“Don’t ask.”

* * *

 

It was nearly midnight when Dean entered Harvelle’s Gym. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the meeting with the suit. He tossed and turned for a couple hours before hopping on his motorcycle.

With his hands taped and Zeppelin on the iPod, he went to town on the small bag, filling the gym with rapid slaps. Despite the music and doing what usually cleared his mind, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not her, but what she said.

“You’ve got what it takes to make it. You’ve got something no one has seen since Ali.”

Dean was never one to pat himself on the back or toot his own horn, but yeah, he was damn good at what he did. So what’s the worst that could happen if he decided to go for it, go pro?

With his thoughts swirling and Ramble On blaring in his ears, he didn’t hear the door shut, or the approaching footsteps, or the voice calling out to him. He didn’t know he wasn’t alone until someone put their hand on his shoulder. Dean spun on his heel and threw a punch without taking a moment to ask who it was. Serious, y/c eyes from earlier in the day greeted him a split second before his hand was pushed to the side in defense.

He ripped out the earbuds and glared at Y/N, “The fuck is wrong with you? You scared the shit outta me!”

_Ramble On, and now's the time, the time is now, to sing my song. I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl, on my way. I've been this way ten years to the day, Ramble On, gotta find the queen of all my dreams._

She waited until Dean turned off the iPod before saying anything, “Scared you? You tried punching me.”

“After _you_ snuck up on _me_.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Y/N sighed, “Look, I’m sorry. I said your name, but since you obviously couldn’t hear me-”

The offending earbuds were tossed into Dean’s duffel bag, “So you come around where I can see you, not sneak up on me! Jesus!”

“Look, I said I was sorry, ok? I just came to talk to you-”

“Said no.”

She shoved her hands into the pockets of a fitted leather jacket, “You didn’t let me finish.”

Grabbing a towel, Dean drug it over his face, “You wanted to see if I thought anymore about the offer earlier, am I right?”

“Yes and no. While we… I would love to represent you, I wanted to talk with you, get to know you, see what makes you… you.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he started the process of removing the boxing tape his hands, “Yeah, ok.”

“Why do you have a problem with me?”

“You’re what, 25 or 26? You’re dipping your toes in the water of,” it was Dean’s turn to drag his eyes over her frame, “daddy’s business. You want to prove to him that you’re not his little girl anymore, that you can do this on your own. You’re hoping that by signing me, the ‘best thing since Ali’, that he’ll see you’ve grown up and you’re well on your way to take over.”

She didn’t flinch, “Remember Jermain Taylor?”

“Course I do. He hit it big a few years back, won the middleweight division last year.”

“Bernard Hopkins.”

“Middleweight division champ in 2001.”

With an arched brow, she gnawed on her bottom lip, “Winky Wright.”

The last of the tape was removed, rolled into a ball, and tossed into the trash, “Light middleweight champ, most of 2004.”

“So you know a little bit about the world of professional boxing, but let me ask you this. Who represented them?”

“Why does that matter?”

She rolled her eyes and held out a business card, her name and number etched in simple black font, “Call me when you figure it out.”

* * *

 

_**Present** _

Dean sat at the table and stared at the slim black phone. It had only been a few hours since Gadreel delivered his ultimatum; throw the match with Gunnar Lawless or ‘bad things’ll happen to your girlfriend.’ It took everything in him not to march down there and kick the shit outta him, but he knew how bad it would be if that happened.

A rapid knock on the door interrupted the thoughts swirling through Dean’s mind. He jogged over and peeked through the hole to see who it was. When he saw the face of his best friend, he yanked the door open, “Benny?”

Benny stepped inside, locking the door behind him, “I can help get Y/N back, but we gotta act fast.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stared at his best friend, confusion thick on his tongue, “How do you know about Y/N?”

Benny pulled off his cap and ran a hand through his freshly shorn hair. “You’re not gonna like it, brother.”

“So help me, Benny-” with hands balled at his sides, Dean took a menacing step closer.

“It wasn’t me, I didn’t take her. I wouldn’t do that,” it was hard for the burly Louisianan to not sound scared, but he’d be kidding himself if Benny thought Dean wasn’t a scary motherfucker.

“Get to talkin’,” Dean demanded through gritted teeth.

“I work for Gadreel.”

As if Benny had struck him, Dean stumbled back, eyes wide, mouth open, shaking hand shoving through his hair. He sputtered, trying to say something, anything, but he couldn’t form any coherent words. But when Benny took a step towards him, to ask if he was alright, Dean snapped. His eyes and features went dark as he grabbed Benny by the front of his shirt and pushed him into the wall, smacking the back of Benny’s head with a _thunk_.

The white hot fire of betrayal coursed through Dean, making every muscle twitch and his voice almost unrecognizable, “How could you do this?”

Large hands covered Dean’s, but Benny made no attempt to get out of his best friend’s shaking grip. “You think I wanna work for him? Dean… h- he’s got me under his thumb, brother. I have no choice.”

Dean’s face contorted with rage and confusion as he stared at the man he called his brother since they were ten, the man that worked for Gadreel, the man that could help get Y/N back. It took some effort, but Dean released Benny, stepping back and pulling in a shuddering breath as his mind spun ‘round and ‘round.

“How do I get her back?”

* * *

Gadreel’s hand left a mark on your cheek, bright red and stinging as the skin of your cheekbone split open. You sneered, hissing through your teeth as your head whipped almost painfully to the side. You wanted to reach up and cover your face, but your hands were currently out of commission since they were tied behind the chair you were sitting in.

“That all you got?” You swiped your tongue over your split bottom lip and managed not to cringe as blood coated the underside of your tongue. It was thick in your mouth, almost making you gag, but you mixed it with your saliva and spat it out; it hit the floor with a rich, wet smack.

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. “You know it’s not, sweetheart.” If you hadn’t seen him smirk, you would have heard it in his voice, the uptilt in his voice, like he was enjoying himself a little too much.

With defiance thrumming through you, you ripped your chin from Gadreel’s iron grip. “Get your goddamn hand off me.”

Gadreel arched a brow, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared down at you, watching as you breathed heavily through your nose, as you struggled against the ropes at your wrists, waist, and ankles, as you ground your teeth in anger. With a lopsided smile, Gadreel bent at the waist and wrapped a long-fingered hand around your neck, putting just the right amount of pressure to cut off your oxygen.

Panic exploded in your belly and chest when you couldn’t breathe. Your back arched off the chair as your mouth fell open, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air. When your brain felt like it was growing, pushing against your skull with every heavy, racing beat of your heart, Gadreel’s eyes went dark and he smiled wickedly. He squeezed a little tighter and bursts of black exploded at the edge of your vision, but he only let go when your eyes started to roll back.

* * *

“I thought you said you could help get her back, not tell me to throw the fucking match!” Dean punched the wall before he resumed pacing, not paying any attention to his bleeding knuckles or the hole in the wall. It wasn’t that the match was more important than Y/N, they weren’t even in the same fucking universe, but Dean had worked tremendously hard to get to this point. It was also the last year he had the slightest chance of qualifying to be a contender for the light heavyweight championship. At 30 years old Dean was almost considered an _old man_  in a young man’s game.

Benny pulled an ice pack from the freezer and stood in Dean’s way. “Brother, you’re not listening to me. Throwing the match is an alternative, just in case-”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth, Ben.”

“I’m just sayin’-”

Dean ripped the ice pack away from Benny and clenched his jaw as it was pressed against his knuckles. “You ain’t sayin’ nothin’ that’ll help.”

“You got any idea ‘bout what kinda man he is?”

Pushing past Benny, Dean stormed to the fridge. “He’s a coward and a son of a bitch.”

With a heavy breath, Benny sat down at the table, nodding in thanks as a beer was placed in front of him. “Ok, so maybe you do know. Listen, brother, I… I shoulda said somethin’ sooner-”

Dean shook his head. “I get it, Ben, I do. I just… I’m scared. What if somethin’ happens to her? She’s… she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Don’t go down that road. It’s a dark place and there ain’t no comin’ back from it.” The friends exchanged a worried look before opening their drinks. Silence fell between them as they drank; Dean was -once again- going over the primary plan while Benny was praying to make it through. If Gadreel found out, there’d be all kinds of hell to pay. Not that Gadreel trumped Benny’s friendship with Dean and Y/N, not by a long shot, he just hoped to make it out alive. He was only human, after all.

* * *

When Gadreel untangled his hand from your hair, your head flopped like a rag doll, slamming your chin into your chest with a _clack_  of your teeth that should have hurt. Blood and saliva dripped from your open mouth, your lips swollen and split.

Gadreel laughed as he wiped his hands on a towel. “I like you, you know that?”

A wheezing groan spilled out as you raised your head. “Yeah, why’s that, Gad?”

“Because unlike all the others, you’re not so easy to break. You’ve exceeded all my expectations, love.”

Working your tongue around your mouth, you spat out another thick wad of bloody spit. “Happy to oblige. From what you could see through one half-swollen and fuzzy eye, Gadreel smirked before taking a drink of cold water. 

“I really wish I didn’t have to leave you.” You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared. Relief because if Gadreel was gone, then you were no longer getting beat about. Scared because if Gadreel was gone, who was going to take his place?

You tried to keep your voice neutral, unconcerned, “You got somewhere more important to be?”

“Trust me, there is no one I’d rather spend my time with right now, but alas, duty calls.” The door creaked open and just when it was about to latch shut, Gadreel popped his head back in, making you jump, despite your best effort.

“Don’t think that means you’ll be alone, sweetheart. Oh… what I have in store for you.” And with a smack of his lips, he was gone.

You weren’t alone for more than a minute when you heard the door slowly creak open. You tried not to cry, but your chin started quaking and once the first tear fell, there was no stopping the rest. Looking up, you croaked, “Please. I… I’ll do it. I’ll get him to throw the match.”

Benny all but fell to his knees in front of you, large hands cupping your battered face. “No you won’t, Y/N.”

You wanted to sag against him, but the restraints wouldn’t allow for it. “What do you mean?”

“Imma get you outta here, but we gotta make it fast. Can you do that?” Thick fingers were already pulling a knife from his back pocket to remove your bonds before you could answer.

“Ben, no. I… if Gadreel finds out-”

Large blue eyes sparkled up at you. “Which is why we hafta move.”

You all but fell out of the chair when the last rope was pulled away, you say pulled away because the strands had practically burned into your skin. Arms like tree trunks wrapped around your waist and held you tight to his side, so close that you almost felt like you were part of him. Your legs didn’t work properly as the two of you snuck out of the room, but you didn’t really need them since Benny was holding you up. He (I)shhh(I)’d you quietly as you descended metal stairs and rounded corners where armed and large men were paying their dues to Gadreel.

It was when Benny turned the last corner that the hope you were so desperately clinging to was ripped away. Gadreel stood in the doorway, blocking your exit.

“Gotta say I’m disappointed, Benny.”

“How’s that?” Benny managed to keep the nerves from his voice, but just barely.

Gadreel waved his hand between you and the man you were clinging to. “You blind?”

“Just stretching her legs, boss.”

“Riiiiight. And I’m King Tut.” As soon as Benny opened his mouth, Gadreel held up a hand and cleared his throat. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I know you care for Y/N, seeing as she’s your best friend’s girlfriend and all that domestic shit, but I don’t give a fuck about that. I gave you a direct order. I didn’t tell you to untie her and ‘stretch her legs’, did I?”

You could hear Benny swallow over the roar of blood in your ears. “P- please, Gad. I… I’ll get Dean to throw the match. I promise.”

Gadreel clenched his jaw, dark eyes flicked between you and Benny, and just when you thought he was going to accept your words as truth, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun; aiming it straight at Benny. “Too little too late, sweetheart.” You screamed -or tried to- as Gadreel pulled the trigger.


	6. Chapter 6

Benny fell -taking you along for the ride- to the ground as the bullet slammed into his gut, surprise and fear etched into his face as warm blood began to color his shirt. With Benny bleeding out, all of your injuries were forgotten as you scrambled to your knees and shoved up his shirt. You’d been around cuts and blood almost your entire life, but the amount of blood that flowed from the small wound scared you. Without a second thought, you ripped off your shirt and pressed it against Benny’s stomach. His eyes were wide and darting around as he writhed, groaning low in his throat, hands searching for something to grab onto.

“Shhh, Benny, it’s ok,” your voice was thick with emotion as the shirt in your hands became thick and heavy with blood. You threw a tear-filled glare over your shoulder and screamed for Gadreel to call 911.

The cocky son of a bitch just shrugged and pushed the pistol into its holster. “Can’t do that, sweetheart.”

“You fucking prick,” you snarled at Gadreel

“S- Sug?” Benny’s voice shook as he continued to writhe. “Y- you gotta… g- get outta here.”

You looked down at your friend and found him pale, beads of sweat on his brow. “I’m not leaving you, Ben.”

Gadreel was on his way over. “Get up, Y/N. I’m not done with you.”

“Fuck off, Gad!” You didn’t have to look at him to know that he had clenched his fists and jaw in anger or that his stride had quickened.

Benny knew that what you said was true, that you wouldn’t leave him. With shaking hands, he maneuvered his arm behind him and withdrew his own concealed weapon. “K- kill him, Y/N. I- it’s the o- only way.”

The gun was barely in your hand when Gadreel’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you away from Benny. You ground out a curse and, when Gadreel spun you around to face him, pressed the barrel under his chin.

Gadreel cocked a brow. “You don’t have the balls.”

Pulling the hammer back, your smirked, letting it seep into your words, “I got bigger balls than you.” The gunshot echoed in the room and, for a moment, you couldn’t hear anything except for a high-pitched buzzing, almost as if a flash grenade exploded inside your head.

You rushed back to Benny and searched frantically for his cell phone, knowing that the men inside the warehouse would have to be deaf not to have heard that last gunshot. Locating it, you dialed 911 with one hand and put pressure on Benny’s wound with the other.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“We are at the warehouse on 7th. My friend has been shot. You have to hurry! There are armed men in here with us. I… I don’t know what they’re going to do.”

God bless her, the operator remained calm, “An ambulance and police cruiser have been dispatched to your location, ma’am.”

“Gonna need a lot more than one cruiser!”

Benny groaned heavily and a hand grabbed your leg, gripping it tight enough that you’d be purple for weeks to come; it would go well with the other bruises you’d be wearing courtesy of Gadreel. “W- watch out, S- Sug.”

With a fear-laced shout, you dropped the phone and grabbed the pistol you had used to kill Gadreel. Three armed and very pissed off men had just begun thundering down the stairs, shouting at you to drop it. Needing no encouragement from Benny, you squeezed the trigger several times in rapid succession, hitting the men in their chests. If you hadn’t been crazy high on adrenaline, you would have laughed your ass off when they fell down the remaining steps and landed awkwardly atop each other..

When Benny coughed up blood and pointed behind you, you spun around, gun aimed and finger on the trigger, ready to protect yourself and your friend until your last breath. You didn’t expect to see flashing red and blue lights or two very surprised looking EMT’s with their hands in the air. The last surge of adrenaline had taken its toll on your already beat up and tired body; with a whimper, you dropped the gun, the clattering of metal on concrete the last thing you heard before passing out.

* * *

Sitting in a wheelchair next to an unconscious Benny, you cringed as you leaned over and grabbed his hand. He had only been out of surgery for a handful of hours and the doctors insisted that you need to rest as well, but you weren’t having it. Benny was your friend and if they really wanted to keep you in bed, they’d have to sedate you.

The beeping of several monitors and the hiss of oxygen was borderline hypnotic, trying to lull you to sleep where all you did was dream of Gadreel and guns; post-traumatic stress, that’s what the doctor called it. Whatever it was, you couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

With a gentle knock, Dean came in first, then your father, who you couldn’t even look at. Dean dropped a kiss to your crown before whispering in your ear, “You really should talk to him.”

Eyes wide and mouth agape, you stared up at him. “Seriously? He’s the reason-”

“Baby, please,” his tone left no room for argument. He wheeled you into your room and kissed you gently before shooting Crowley a dark and dangerous look.

Even after the door had clicked shut, your father wouldn’t look at you. He shuffled his feet and didn’t know what to do with his hands, looking everywhere but your bruised and battered face.

“Look at me,” you demanded, voice raspy from the breathing tube you needed after you passed out. Crowley jumped, but continued to avert his gaze. Growling in anger, you stood on shaking legs. “God damn it, daddy, **look at me**!”

It took a few moments, but after pulling in a deep breath, Crowley looked at you, and it damn near took your breath away. You had seen your father cry only a couple of times; the first time being when your mother died from breast cancer and then when he got the call saying that his parents had been in a fatal accident.

With tears in his eyes and his voice shaking, Crowley took a step towards you, “I’m sorry, love.”

You tried holding onto the anger, but tears pricked your eyes and before you could stop them, they spilled past your lashes. “Daddy… what Gad… what he did to me, he did because of you.” Not completely true, but you refused to blame yourself for having a relationship with Dean.

“I know, baby. I… I have a problem,” his voice broke and he covered his face with a shaking hand.

“God damn right you do.” Silence stretched between you, the only sound being a sniff from your father as he tried to get his emotions under control.

You shuffled over and grabbed his hand, smiling softly when he met your gaze. “We’ll get you the help you need, ok? But you gotta promise me that this is it; no more gambling.”

Crowley dipped his head once in agreement. “Promise, love. I never meant for this to happen, I swear.”

“I know, daddy.”

Bobby finished taping up Dean’s gloves and gave him a fatherly clap to the side of his head. “You’d better hope you have a granite chin, boy.”

“Got the best trainer in Lawrence, that’s all I need.” Dean smirked, ducking out of the way when the older man threw a controlled punch.

You waited until the members of the Boxing Commission triple checked Dean’s gloves and scribbled their initials on the tape before you cleared your throat and limped over to the table. “How’s my boys?”

Bobby draped an arm over your shoulders, giving you a firm squeeze. “Almost ready. I’ll give you two a minute.”

Standing between Dean’s legs, you pressed your forehead to his and grabbed his face. “You got this, babe.” Dean blew out a heavy breath before kissing you breathless.

Biting your still tender bottom lip, you cocked a brow. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

[ **Phenomenal**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DoeCihv9A3ac&t=YTU2ODc0ZmE1MWMxMDljZTk5NmY0OWNhZDNhNjU2YzdlOTIzMTc2OCxUZ05EWHVHUg%3D%3D) blasted through the speakers as you and Bobby followed Dean to the ring. The crowd was almost louder than the music, but all you could really hear was the roar of blood in your ears. If you were this nervous, you couldn’t imagine how Dean was feeling.

Gunner Lawless was huge compared to Dean, but you know the old adage; the bigger they are, the harder they fall. It just happened to take a lot longer than it should have.

Gunner and Dean danced around each other the first couple of rounds, getting a feel for the other’s fighting style without throwing or landing too many punches. You figured that Gunner would have come out swinging, so it was a bit confusing at first. But the fourth round was when everything changed.

Dean had gotten comfortable with the way the first, second, and third round went, smirking at the older boxer he was facing. You yelled at him to fight, to do anything, to just get on with it, but he didn’t listen. So it happened with Dean dropped his right hand; Gunner threw a left hook that you swore broke Dean’s cheekbone. He dropped to the mat and didn’t move for several heartbeats.

Joining Bobby, you slapped the mat and screamed at him to get up. The ref was counting down as Dean laid there, struggling to regain his footing, until finally, with a heavy blink and nod, he held up his gloves, ready for the fight. With a sneer, Gunner strode towards Dean and pulled back his arm just as the bell rang out.

Dean dropped to the stool and spit his mouth guard into the bucket you held. “Imma fuckin’ kill him.”

Bobby tended to the tear in Dean’s cheekbone while you sprayed water in his mouth. “Good news is, it ain’t busted.”

“What’s the bad news?” You and Dean asked at the same time.

“It’s a hell of a cut. If I don’t glue it, it’ll just keep bleedin’.”

Again, talking at the same time, “Do it.”

After fishing out the bloody mouth guard, you rinsed it off and put it back in Dean’s mouth. “No more of this dancing around bullshit. Finish it.”

Dean tapped his gloves together and shot you a wink. “Only one that’ll be walkin’ outta here is me.”

Try as he might, Dean just couldn’t get a leg up on Gunner; he was taller and had a longer reach than Dean. But that didn’t mean Dean gave up, hell no. Dean dug deep and fought harder than you had ever seen him fight, even knocked Gunner to the mat after a series of quick jabs to his ribs and kidneys. But it didn’t seem to matter because Gunner just kept getting up.

It was the end of the eleventh round and Dean wasn’t only bleeding from the cheekbone, there were cuts in his eyebrows, lips, and in his hairline. Honestly, he looked like death warmed over.

Dean gave a firm shake of his head as cool water cascaded down, wincing as Bobby prodded at the seeping cuts. “How’s it lookin’?”

“You gotta do something, Dean. He’s gonna win this if you don’t.”

He glared at you through bloody lashes. “Think I don’t know that?”

With a sigh, you crouched in front of him and grabbed his gloves. “Maybe it’s time to pull out the special move you and Bobby have been working on.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “We’ve only been practicing for a couple weeks.”

“Gotta try something, right?” Before you could say anything more, the bell rang and you jumped out of the ring.  

Gunner started the final round as if his life depended on it; swinging almost wildly and without abandon, but that didn’t mean his punches didn’t hit home. Dean tried and tried to get the upper hand, but one of Gunner’s wild swings hit him the temple. He stumbled, but didn’t fall, gathering his bearings when the ref stopped Gunner from doing further damage.

You looked at the clock and jumped up, screaming, “Do it!” With a twitch of his shoulder, you knew Dean had heard you.

The ref gave a signal to continue and with a confident smile, Dean tapped Gunner’s gloves. Gunner gave a sneer and started to attack, landing several punches that sent blood misting through the air. Dean ducked just in time, threw a punch to Gunner’s gut, and did something no one but you and Bobby expected; he went southpaw.

Dean’s left hand collided with Gunner’s chin and the older boxer fell back with a wet slap that all but echoed through the gymnasium. You held your breath as the ref counted down, but despite the shouts from his team. Gunner didn’t so much as twitch.

Screams erupted from the crowd as you all but slid into the ring and into Dean’s arms. “You did it!”

His mouth was by your ear, “Couldn’t have done it without you, baby.”


	7. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a year since Dean beat Gunner Lawless. Find out what he and the reader have been up to.

After winning the fight with Lawless, Dean took a step back from boxing; taking the role of trainer instead of trainee. He was still working 12-hour days, 7 days a week, but he wasn’t coming home every night, covered in bruises and cuts adorning his face. Granted, he’d still get knocked to the mat every now and again, but it was nothing like after a series of matches.

Before you knew it, a year had passed. A year since Gadreel had kidnapped you to try and settle your father’s debt. A year since that plan failed monumentally. A year since you shot and killed the gangster. It had been a year and you still had nightmares about that day. Well, technically the nightmares stopped 6 months ago. But that story was for another time.

* * *

You were standing in the kitchen, fridge door wide open, drinking milk straight from the carton. What? You were dealing with some wicked heartburn and needed immediate relief. The only thing that gave you that, was milk. Or any kind of dairy, really. But you were all out of ice cream and Dean hadn’t been answering his phone. Which was normal, given his long hours at Harvelle’s Gym. So, milk it was.

Neither the door opening, or the _thud_ of a duffel, or the soft footfalls of Dean coming up behind you pulled your attention away from the task at hand; draining the gallon of milk.

“How’s my girl?” he murmured into your ear, his rough hands sliding over your sides and under the snug tank.

With the milk gone, you gasped for air, wiped the back of your hand over your mouth, and tossed the jug into the sink. “Heartburn, but that’s normal,” you answered, leaning back and dropping your head to his shoulder.

“Well,” he started, swaying softly from side to side. “If you didn’t eat so many damned spicy foods-”

You pushed your elbow into his stomach, making the man behind you grunt and groan. “Can’t help it if that’s what I like.”

Dean chuckled and hummed into your hair before kissing your temple. “You like it, but it doesn’t like you so much,” he snarked, using his years of fancy footwork to spin away, narrowly avoiding another elbow.

You were chuckling as you readjust the tank Dean had messed up and tied the robe closed. “I’m not the only one it doesn’t like,” you couldn’t help but sass back, pinching your nose as you walked past him and into the living room. Before you knew it, Dean was in front of you, thick arms around your waist, lifting you off the floor. You wrapped your arms around his neck and shoulders, giggling like a schoolgirl, kicking your feet back and forth.

“Stop it,” you stuttered, all out laughing as Dean tickled your neck with his three-day old scruff.

“You love it,” Dean claimed, tickling you for a moment before setting you down.

You rubbed your beard-burned skin carefully. “A’course I do. Now,” you grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch. “Tell me how training went.”

Dean was chuckling as you tucked yourself into the corner of your couch. He sat down and pulled your legs across his lap, gently massaging your calves. “There’s this new kid,” he started. Closing his eyes, be sighed softly before continuing, “She’s angry, babe. So angry.”

It felt amazing, his fingers digging into your skin, but the edge to his voice made it difficult to lose yourself in just how amazing it felt. “Do you know what happened?”

“Car accident. Father died on scene,” Dean breathed, focusing on your legs.

You hummed sadly. “Poor thing. What about her mother?”

“She fell into a coma and died later,” Dean divulged. “Too much trauma to recover from.”

“That’s terrible.”

Dean shrugged. “What’s even worse is she thinks it’s her fault.”

You sat up a little too quickly for your back’s liking. “Why on earth would she think that?”

He looked at you then, and the compassion you saw just about took your breath away. “They were going to pick her up from a friend’s house. She changed her mind about staying, and did what anyone would do.”

“She called her parents,” you groaned, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

“She read The Hobbit to her mother every day,” Dean added sadly.

“That poor thing,” you whispered and drug a hand through your hair. “What’s her name?”

Dean squeezed your feet before twisting in his seat to face you. “Charlie, at least, that’s what she’s calling herself. She changed everything about herself.”

“I can’t imagine,” you voiced, understanding why she would do that. “Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

Dean gave a lopsided smile and sighed before asking, “How ‘bout you? You have a good day?”

You answered with a slightly pained groan. “Had better days.” Which was the truth. The falls you had taken in the warehouse with Gadreel had herniated several of your vertebrae. You thought surgery would be necessary, but the doctors said that with the proper precautions and care, you shouldn’t see the surgery room for quite a few years.

Concern took hold of his features and he scooted closer to you. “You’ve been doing your stretches, right?”

“Yes, and yoga, which are both helping.”

“But,” he prodded, resting a hand on your stomach.

Your brow arched in a playfully angry way. “Your child has been kickin’ up a storm today.”

Dean gave a wide smile of genuine happiness, because at that very moment, the baby kicked his hand, making you wince. “Feisty little guy, ain’t ya?” the father-to-be whispered after shifting so he was lying on his belly.

You watched as Dean kissed your swollen belly and his eyes fluttered closed. You scratched your nails along his scalp and admitted, “He misses his daddy.”

“I know. I miss you, too,” he said, chuckling when the baby gave another solid kick.

“I don’t know how I’m going to make it another sixteen weeks,” you groaned, your head falling to the side, pushing into the large cushion, and your nails still scraping Dean’s head.

“You got this, babe,” Dean praised, dropping more kisses to your belly as he pushed his palm gently into it, hoping to feel the baby move again.

And that’s how you fell asleep; nestled into the corner of the couch, head snuggled into a cushion, your hand in Dean’s hair, and Dean whispering to your unborn son.


End file.
